


Tattoos and Scars

by werewolvesandarrows (nerdy_farm_girl)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Background Lydia/Parrish, Deputy Derek Hale, Derek Comes Back, Established Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski, Future Fic, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Past Braeden/Derek Hale, Scott McCall is a Good Alpha, background kira/malia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7321570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_farm_girl/pseuds/werewolvesandarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years since Derek left Beacon Hills, after that final show down in Mexico. It's been so long that the pack he left behind are grown into fully functioning adults, something he doesn't even feel he's done himself. But Derek's doing okay, settled down in Kansas with a house and a job and an old Camaro he loves with all his heart. He's put down roots.<br/>But when Scott McCall asks if he's planning on coming home, Derek says yes.<br/>There's no real reason to return to Beacon Hills, and Derek tries to blame it on the instinct to be near an alpha, but deep down he knows he'd do anything Scott McCall asked. At first it feels like he doesn't even belong there, but before long he finds the thing he was really missing: home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tattoos and Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Praise the Lord this thing is finally off my hands!! Please check out the beautiful artwork by [Win](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreaminpng) that is embedded in this fic and also posted on [tumblr](http://dreaminpng.tumblr.com/post/146575935362/the-art-i-drew-to-accompany-werewolvesandarrowss) and [Live Journal](http://dreaminpng.livejournal.com/3331.html).
> 
> I would never have gotten this far without Kris and Kat, my cheerleaders, betas, and for just being there when I felt like giving up! I am forever grateful for the both of you!
> 
> I would also like to thank those of you who helped me come up with ideas for Scott's tattoos on tumblr like a gazillion years ago! Win did an amazing job drawing the tats, and ya'll should totally check it out.

Derek rides back into Beacon Hills in a ‘67 Camaro.

It’s not much unlike the first time he actually made a _return_ , back in 2010 behind the wheel of another, much newer Camaro. He likes this one better, likes the almost too loud rumble of the engine and the hand cranks for the windows. He likes the cracks in the leather in the backseat and the way the sun catches on the chrome wheels. It’s the first time he’s ever really had a connection to a vehicle. He shared the other Camaro with Laura in high school, and it’s always been _her_ car. Then the SUV was alright, it served its purpose but he never really _liked_ it. But this one… this one is special.

His grandfather always had the hood up on something, oil pans and greasy red rags as much a part of Derek’s memories of him as anything else. He used to say he needed something that growled like a wolf and ran like a horse, and Derek’s never seen a car as beautiful as Gramps’ deep purple 1970 Barracuda. Riding with Gramps was probably one of the highlights of Derek’s childhood, the rumble of the engine beneath the hood and the wind whipping through the open windows. Gramps had passed away before Derek could learn much more than the basics of car maintenance, but Laura knew enough to never have to visit a mechanic in their years away from Beacon Hills. Derek taught himself over the years, picked up a few more tricks from Braeden while they traveled. He rebuilt this very car from the ground up, living alone out in Kansas with nothing else to do. A car was something he could actually _fix_. It couldn’t manipulate him, couldn’t hide things from him, couldn’t break his heart with a smile.

Needless to say, the relationship he had with this car was _special_.

Why he’s bringing the closest thing he has to a _child_ back to Beacon Hills, he doesn’t know.

Or… he does _know_ , it’s just that he’s not quite ready to acknowledge it. He could say it’s the ingrained werewolf instincts, that when an alpha asks him to jump his instinctual response is to ask how high. But he _knows_ that’s not quite it, especially when the alpha in question wouldn’t ever force him to do anything, not anymore. Scott is…

Scott is _something_. There’s been this draw between them ever since the first time Derek laid eyes on him, like a string, tugging at his spine every time he takes a step. He _hated_ Scott at first, hated his naivety and his stubbornness and the way he hated Derek right back. But Scott managed to get to him, managed to squirm his way under Derek’s skin until it felt like he belonged there, nestled behind Derek’s ribs where his heart used to be. Scott didn’t even have to _try_ , it just happened, but Derek’s not sure he would have it any other way. It’s been a long time since he’s had a _friend_ like Scott. In fact, he’s not sure _anyone_ can have a friend like Scott; it’s doubtful that anyone in existence even comes close.

So of course, when Scott casually asks when he’s coming back to Beacon Hills, it’s _completely_ reasonable for him to respond with ‘soon’, even though he’s been paying a mortgage on a house in Kansas for two years. Packing up his things, selling his house and heading back to a place comparable to Hell on Earth is somehow justifiable when it comes to Scott. Neither Cora nor Braeden seemed surprised when he called to tell them he was moving home. It was a little _offensive_ actually, their complete lack of surprise on the matter.

“It’s _Scott_.” Cora had smirked at him through the video feed, her eyes shining brightly. “I’m not stupid.” Braeden had popped up behind her and just given him that _look_ , the one that says she can see right through him and they both know it. He wishes he could say it’s annoying, being so easy to read after years of existing as a shadow or a mystery, but in reality it’s comforting, having his sister and the woman who has become his best friend just existing and _knowing_ him. Even if they do spend _way_ too much time going on potentially dangerous adventures together.

With each passing mile, the tugging in the pit of his stomach gets stronger, pulling, dragging him back to Beacon Hills. His phone rings the minute he crosses the county line, lighting up with the name S. STILINSKI flashing across the screen. He debates ignoring it. Stiles is… Stiles knows how to push his buttons, and as many important and life changing experiences they’ve shared, it seems like every encounter ends with poking each other until one of them breaks. Of course, that’s not to say that he doesn’t enjoy it, doesn’t feel _something_ when Stiles’ honey eyes flash and his long fingers curl into fists.

“Hale,” he barks into the phone, only using that particular greeting because he knows it will rub Stiles the wrong way.

“Oh my God,” Stiles huffs. Derek can just imagine the disgusted look on his face. “Why can’t you answer the phone like a normal person, Jesus Christ.”

“Hi Stiles, I’m great how are you?”

“Fuck you Derek. Just tell me what you’re doing back in Beacon Hills.” Stiles’ voice is sharp, leaving no room for argument and even less room for humor. It’s different than the grandstanding of his teenage years. He sounds grown up, his words hard and his heartbeat steady on the other end of the phone. Derek frowns at the road ahead of him.

“How do you know I’m back?” He eases his foot from the gas, slowing down just to stretch the drive out a little more.

“The McCall pack not only has an extremely competent emissary, but a human second in command with a propensity to dabble in magic. Did you really think we wouldn’t be tuned in to the territory? The magic fluctuates every time a supernatural creature crosses the county line.” He still pulls off smugness annoyingly well. Derek finds himself wishing they were face to face, wishing he could actually see the twist of his lips and the roll of his eyes.

“How’d you know it was me? There could be some rogue omega gallivanting through your territory right now.”

“Okay _gallivanting_ , really? And Scott’s only mentioned that you might be coming back soon like once or twice or _a million_ times. Oh wait I think he’s -”

“ _Derek’s_ _back_!” Derek can just pick up a tinny, but still familiar voice from Stiles’ end. “ _I felt it! He’s here!_ ”

“Yeah, no shit,” Stiles sighs. “I’m talking to him right now. And a little worried that my boyfriend who apparently _hates_ dog jokes is acting like a _literal_ puppy right now.”

Derek can’t focus on anything but that one word, _boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend_ , echoing in his head on repeat. It’s not exactly surprising, and it shouldn’t bother him, but it does. His heart drops and his skin feels too tight. It might be anger, or he might just be uncomfortable, or maybe it’s simply a paradigm shift. Scott and Stiles _together_ , holding hands and kissing and… _fucking_ … well, it’s not that he hasn’t thought about it, because he _has_. It’s always been there between them, that bond, the way they seem to be _everything_ to each other.

“Yo Derek, you still there?” Stiles’ voice rips him from his thoughts, obnoxious as ever.

“Yeah sorry I’ll-”

“You better be at the house within ten minutes or I will make it my personal mission to embarrass you in front of both my father and Melissa. That’s the price for forcing me to deal with sad puppy eyes McCall.”

Stiles hangs up before Derek can even attempt to argue, leaving him with a ringing in his ears and an unidentifiable ache in his heart.

Derek assumes that “the house” refers to Scott’s house, which he bought from his mother when he finished vet school a few months ago. Scott had sent him pictures from the big move, boxes upon boxes and random shots of Stiles and Kira and Liam. Maybe he should’ve noticed then, that Scott and Stiles were together. Maybe he should have noticed long ago.

The road he's driving down is painfully familiar but vaguely different. For the first time in his life he feels like he might be an outsider in his own hometown, like maybe he doesn't _belong_.

There's more cars parked in Scott’s driveway than he was expecting. He doesn't recognize any of them; the last time he saw the pack, Scott was still rocking his dirt bike, and Stiles was limping along in the jeep. Now there's a baby blue short bed pickup truck, a black Subaru, a lifted Durango, and a brand new Honda Civic. He parks next to the Subaru, hoping the rumble of the Camaro’s engine will drown out the way his heart is beating too fast and too loud.

He knows he doesn’t have to worry, that he’s known these kids since they were still actually kids, when _all_ of them had no idea what they were doing. But maybe that’s what worries him, the fact that they _aren’t_ kids anymore, that the entire pack is grown up and _successful_ , and he doesn’t feel like either of those things. It’s been close to eight years since he’s been back to Beacon Hills, since he’s seen any of the people that he still considers to be his pack. In his time away he’s gone to therapy, finished his degree, pulled himself together. But he still doesn’t feel like he has any direction to his life whatsoever. It probably _shouldn’t_ have been so easy to pull up his stakes and move from Kansas back to Beacon Hills without a second thought. Sure, he had made a few friends there that he might miss, although he would never miss them as much as he’s missed Scott and Stiles and the rest of the pack. But there wasn’t a job, wasn’t anything _important_ holding him there.

But he’s made it this far, so the least he can do is get out of his car.

He cuts the engine, the sound of still familiar heartbeats filling his ears. There’s no way they haven’t realized that he’s here, they have to know he’s out here stalling. It’s now or never. Derek throws open the door and steps out, shaking out his legs, stiff from hours of driving. He’s barely halfway to the front door before it bursts open and Scott shoots out, leaping from the front steps and grabbing him in some kind of tackle/hug. Derek stumbles back half a step, but he still catches Scott, arms wrapping automatically around his waist. Hugging hasn't ever been his _thing_ ; or at least, he never really got hugs, not since the fire. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s never hugged Scott, or Stiles, or any of the pack really, and it _bothers_ him. But Scott doesn’t seem to care, his face pressed into the crook of Derek’s neck, hands hot where they spread across his back.

“Missed you, man,” he sighs, and Derek can’t help but nod, running his own hand up Scott’s spine to ruffle his hair. Scott seems bigger and broader than he remembers, the alpha musculature obviously filling out as he grows into his power. He still smells the same though, like sunshine and soap and _home_. Derek gives into temptation and presses his face into Scott’s hair, tightening his grip as if to say, _I missed you too_.

“Alright, make way, VIP coming through.” Derek lifts his head up to find Stiles coming down the steps, a smirk fixed on his face that doesn’t quite match the softness in his eyes. “My turn Scott, stop hogging him.”

“But I’m the alpha,” Scott growls against Derek’s throat. It sends a tingle straight down his spine to his toes, and he’s sure Stiles doesn’t miss the way his eyes burn blue and he tilts his chin, baring his neck. In fact, he _knows_ Stiles sees it, can practically feel that irritating mixture of smugness and annoyance radiating off him, which definitely matches the smirk and raised brows.

“And I’m Stiles,” Stiles chuckles, pinching the back of Scott’s arm. “Move it.” Scott sighs and pulls back, and for the first time Derek actually gets a good look at his face. He doesn’t really look much older, though there’s stubble on that endearingly crooked jaw, and a few laugh lines that didn’t used to be there. If anything, he’s even more attractive than ever, the low hum of power that seems to surround him only amplifying it. Scott lifts his hands to Derek’s face, cupping his cheeks and sliding them down, across his jaw to his ears and down his neck. Derek’s eyes flicker to Stiles, who’s watching them with fond amusement.

“Subtle, Scott,” he laughs, grin turning bright when Scott huffs and drops his hands.

“We’ve had trouble with the Santiago Pack trying to steal my betas,” Scott explains, reaching for Derek’s wrists and rubbing his thumbs across them. “It’s just a precaution.”

Stiles laughs like something about that sentence is funny, pushing his way between Scott and Derek and wrapping his arms around Derek.

“It’s good to have you back,” he murmurs when Derek returns the gesture, their bodies pressing together from thighs to shoulders. Scott’s heart stutters, and Derek is suddenly aware of how oddly intimate this is, ears immediately burning hot. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind, slapping him firmly on the back in what is probably supposed to be a ‘no homo’ gesture, before stepping back with a grin fixed carefully on his face. “Come on inside, Liam’s cooking dinner tonight.”

Derek glances at Scott, wordlessly seeking permission. All he gets is a grin before Scott’s bounding up the front steps like an overexcited puppy. Derek moves to follow him, only to be stopped by a firm hand on his arm.

“You need to tell me right now if you plan on leaving again, and then you need to tell him,” Stiles whispers, looking meaningfully towards the door Scott disappeared through. “I haven’t seen him this excited in years. Don’t let him get his hopes up.”

Derek swallows hard, his heart constricting in his chest. He knows better than to make promises, especially since he seems to always break them, intentionally or not. But as he stands there in Scott’s front yard, the scent of _alpha_ and _pack_ and _home_ still surrounding him, he feels more _right_ than he has in years, maybe even decades.

“I’m staying,” the words unstick themselves from his throat, coming out heavier and thicker than they probably should have. But Stiles actually smiles, this soft, private, _real_ thing that Derek knows he’ll never be able to forget.

“Good,” is all he says, pushing Derek gently towards the house. “Let’s reintroduce you to the pack then.”

 

Derek’s nerves flare up again as Stiles’ words hit him. It hadn’t occurred him, really, that he would need re-introducing, but it’s probably true. The amount of time he’d spent with any of the girls was minimal, and he’d only known Liam for barely a month. Not to mention that Scott threw names around he didn’t recognize during their phone calls, meaning the pack had only continued to grow. The McCall pack is flourishing with maturity, and Derek had heard rumors about the kids he had essentially watched go to hell and back as far east as New York and has far south as Chile. A true alpha, his human second that had overcome demon possession, a thunder kitsune, a banshee, a werecoyote who could full shift, an emissary more powerful than any emerging druid in decades, defeating every foe that came their way. There was always a sense of pride that filled Derek whenever he heard the name McCall, filling his chest with light. But Derek didn’t know them, not like that.

This is his chance.

So Derek lets Stiles guide him inside, following the sound of bickering and laughter into the kitchen. It’s a little messier than it used to be, but brighter, filled with dirty dishes and giggles and, most of all, _love._ Derek recognizes Liam in front of the stove, taller and more muscled, the back of his neck burning red and a frilly apron tied around his waist. He’s stirring furiously at a pot, the smell of tomato sauce filling the air. There’s a kid Derek doesn’t recognize splayed across the counter, his dark skin practically glowing as he giggles helplessly. Malia is perched on a stool beside him, her features sharper and her long hair cut into a short bob.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” she hums, raising her eyebrows at Derek in a challenge. “I see your eyebrows haven’t gotten any tamer.”

“I see you haven’t gotten any nicer,” Derek shoots back, earning himself a wide grin from Malia.

“Come here,” she laughs, hopping off the stool and throwing her arms around his neck. She smells familiar, the way all blood does, but she feels like pack, which is something entirely different. It’s nice, good even.

By the time she bounces back, Scott’s got his arm around Liam’s shoulders, and is giving the giggler a disapproving look.

“Mason,” Scott says, raising one eyebrow. “Care to explain why Liam is wearing one of my abuela’s old aprons?”

“Liam-” Mason, which is a name Derek definitely recognizes - the emissary he’s heard so much about, collapses into another fit of giggles, unable to get the words out.

“Mason is a fucking dick, is what’s happening here,” Liam growls, water splashing out of a pot onto the stove. “He bet me that I couldn’t go five minutes without talking about Mindy, but you _know_ how hard that is for me, and then she went and _fucking_ called my phone, and that is totally not my fault but here we fuckin’ are.”

“And _why_ exactly is he wearing the apron?” Stiles asking, dragging Mason off the counter and righting him on the stool.

“That was the bet man,” Mason shrugs, grinning around his words. “And he’s just mad ‘cause I put a picture on Insta and Mindy liked it.”

“Mindy’s a bitch,” Malia bites out, picking her nails with a knife she procured from who the hell knows where.

“Hey now,” Scott turns his disapproving look on her. “That’s not fair and you know it.” Malia just rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything else. “Derek, this is Mason, our emissary, I don’t know if you guys have ever met.” Derek shakes his head and takes Mason’s proffered hand. He’s met with youthful eyes, a genuine smile, and a vaguely offensive floral print shirt.

“You’re like a legend dude,” Mason laughs. He smells like lavender and ozone, and there’s just something about him that makes Derek want to be a better person. He’s not sure if he likes the feeling, but he likes Mason already. “And _wow_ you are even hotter than the stories suggest.”

Everyone in the kitchen groans, and Derek can feel his cheeks burning beneath his beard. He doesn’t know exactly what to say to that, but luckily he’s saved by the clack of high heels on hardwood.

“Well, I see Mason has already made everyone uncomfortable, good work kiddo.” Lydia Martin arrives in a wave of red hair and Chanel No 5, trailed by a very familiar deputy. She’s as beautiful as ever, if only more so, her skin practically glowing and a diamond ring shining on her left hand. “Derek Hale.” She pushes up on her tiptoes and kisses each of his cheeks, pausing just to pat his chest and smile at him. “You look good.”

“So do - um, I mean, congratulations, on your engagement,” he nods towards Parrish, who grins.

“Thank you,” Lydia steps away from him, taking the knife away from Malia and tucking it into her pocket. “What are you cooking Liam?”

Kira rolls in not long after on a Harley, throwing her arms around Derek as soon as she spots him. She hasn’t aged a bit, and Derek can’t even find it within himself to be surprised when she slips away from him and kisses Malia, soft and easy, like they’ve been doing it for years. They probably have, thinking back on some of the pack gossip Brae had relayed to him over his time away.

Dinner is a raucous event, made even more perfect by the tomato sauce from a jar and slightly over cooked pasta. To Derek it tastes better than any meal he’s ever had at a five star restaurant, and as cheesy as it fucking sounds, he thinks it’s probably because it’s made with love. Which is a horrible thought that he hopes no one ever finds out even crossed his mind.

Over the course of the meal he finds out a lot about the pack, how Malia and Kira have been together for three years, and Parrish and Lydia for six. Stiles has been a private investigator for almost four years, and Parrish has taken almost all of the Sheriff’s duties over from Stilinski, who is transitioning into retirement. Lydia has a job at what is apparently a top secret government research facility, where she works ridiculous hours but makes more than her fair share of money. Liam and Isaac have opened a youth gym, where all employees are trained not only in physical education but psychology. Malia works for the California Parks Department, spending her days out in the woods. Kira is a kindergarten teacher, but has a class full of very loyal martial arts students at Liam and Isaac’s gym. Mason has taken over as the high school librarian, apparently, according to Liam, patrolling the stacks and intimidating students to tears. And Scott, Scott is set to take over for Deaton, stealing the hearts of every man, woman and child that enters the animal clinic.

It’s like a fairytale, the way the entire pack has taken the shit handed to them and turned it into something wonderful. They’re prospering, loving and laughing while they do it. Derek’s never wanted to be a part of something as badly as he does this, but he’s so, so afraid. He’s not good enough for them, he’s undeserving. He hasn’t accomplished anything in his life, and he has a knack for sucking the laughter out of the room with three words. He doesn’t deserve to have this pack, doesn’t deserve to have this life. He’s thirty-one years old and is barely holding himself together.

Some things haven’t changed though, and Scott seems to notice Derek’s disappeared into his thoughts almost immediately. His eyes do that thing, going all soft and pleading and impossible to look away from. Derek _hates_ it.

“So Der,” Scott says around a mouthful of spaghetti. “Where you planning on staying?”

“Oh, um…” Derek grabs a napkin to buy himself time, wiping his mouth and face meticulously. “I’ve got a room at the motel for the week, just until I find a house or an apartment.” He glances up from where he’d been staring determinedly at his plate to find Scott and Stiles staring at each other. It seems their silent communication has only improved, eyebrows dancing and chins jutting and lots of widening and narrowing of eyes. Finally, after at least thirty seconds of tense silence, Scott turns to Derek with a wide grin.

“We’ve got an empty room, you should move in here.”

Derek glances around the table, checking the reactions of his potential new roommates. Liam is nodding enthusiastically, and Malia looks vaguely unimpressed, but at least not _angry_. Stiles’ expression is carefully blank, and he’s watching Derek intensely, like he’s waiting for an explosion. And Scott, Scott looks so eager, it’s _awful_.

“Oh well, I don’t know, I mean…”

“With the bunch of us living here rent is super reasonable,” Liam offers, grinning widely before shoving a meatball in his mouth.

“And living with pack is actually pretty rad,” Malia adds, but like she doesn’t really _care_.

“It would be good for you, Derek,” Lydia says it less like a suggestion and more like an order, and Derek can’t help but narrow his eyes at her. He sees what’s she’s doing, and he is _not_ falling for it.

“We could use some help fixing this place up too,” Stiles says casually, fingers tapping erratically at the table. “Just sayin’.”

“Oh well,” Derek pokes at his plate, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. Laura always used to make fun of him for doing that, used to say it showed off his bunny teeth. He’s never been able to stop, but maybe that’s only because he can still hear her voice in his head every time he does it. “I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

“Derek,” Scott says, forceful but still soft, bare toes pressing against Derek’s calf beneath the table. “We _want_ you to live here with us. Of course, we will understand if you feel uncomfortable, but please don’t say no because you think we wouldn’t want you here, because we really, really do.”

Derek’s blushing, he knows he is, can feel the heat spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. But there’s something like excitement bubbling in his chest, and he can’t help but think that maybe this is a good thing. Maybe he can be an actual part of this pack.

“Yeah,” he nods, looking up at Scott through his lashes. “Yeah okay.”

He tries to pretend that the cheer that follows his proclamation doesn’t make him smile.

* * *

He spends that night in his hotel room, and for the first time in a long time he feels _lonely_. Over the years he had gotten used to being by himself, living by himself, existing as a single person. He had limited interactions with other people, and the only relationships he really _tried_ to maintain were the ones he had with his sister and Braeden. The years he’d spent in Kansas had been for the most part solitary, and it had never bothered him whatsoever, but now…

The room feels cold and impersonal, the lack of laughter and light and pack more than apparent than ever. He misses them already, misses the warmth of Scott’s eyes and the curve of Stiles’ smirk and the infectious sound of Mason’s laughter.  This particular brand of loneliness, missing people who are still alive and potentially a phone call away, is a new thing to him. It’s almost _nice_ , knowing that he’ll be able to see them soon, be able to hear their heartbeats and smell their happiness.

The next morning he calls the moving company he’d hired and gives them Scott’s address for delivery. They will be there sometime between noon and two, so Derek packs up his things and checks out of his hotel room. He loses count of the number of interested looks he gets as he drives through town. The car grabs their attention, but he knows it’s his face behind the wheel that brings in the second and third looks. He ignores it. As a kid he had lived for the attention, had preened under the admiring gazes from the students he walked the halls with.

But then Kate happened, and everything changed.

It had taken him a couple of mistakes to learn, but looks don’t matter so much to him anymore. Sure, he enjoys looking at beautiful people as much as the next person does, but it’s what’s inside that really matters. It doesn’t matter how beautiful a person is if he can’t trust them.

Scott and Stiles have earned his trust.

Not that they aren’t beautiful, because they are, each in their own fascinating way. Derek’s drawn to the pale column of Stiles’ throat, the splatter of moles across his jaw like wet paint, the sparkle in his eyes and the breadth of his shoulders. He can’t look away from the warmth of Scott’s gaze, the curve of his biceps, the strength in his thighs and his crooked jaw. But he _trusts_ them. And that is _everything_ to him.

He stops at the grocery store and stocks up on vegetables and meat, throwing in sour cream and onion chips because he knows Malia loves them, and chocolate chips because Scott mentioned once that Kira and Mason like to bake. But he focuses on the healthy shit, mostly because he got a glimpse of the fridge and cupboards in the pack house, and they were severely lacking in anything particularly good for them. Protein powder and peanut butter and frozen fruit get thrown in too, there’s always a possibility that he can get Scott or Liam or even Malia to join in on his fitness regime. He would love to get Stiles on board too, but he has a feeling that Stiles would rather make fun of him for drinking protein shakes than actually try and get healthy.

When he gets to Scott’s there’s a different car in the driveway, a lime green Volkswagen bug. He doesn’t recognize the scent that clings to it either; all the scent indicates is that the owner prefers vanilla body spray. He shrugs and gathers the groceries, stacking them all the way up his arms to avoid taking multiple trips. Werewolf strength has to be good for something.

There's two heart beats in the house, one of them jacking up nervously as he pushes open the door. He only makes it a few steps down the hall before it’s blocked by a girl, a woman really, her eyes glowing yellow and a dark pattern appearing across the skin of her cheeks.

“Who are you?” She growls, voice thick through her fangs. Derek raises his eyebrows in a way he knows pisses people off, biting back a smirk when she growls again. He glances over her shoulder, searching for the source of the other, faster heartbeat, but finds no one.

“You really think I'm breaking in here so I can drop off groceries?” The girl holds her ground but pulls her shift back, blinking up at him with deep brown eyes.

“You're Derek Hale,” she says instead of answering, her gaze assessing as it flicks across him.

“Yes-” he stops short, frowning at the wall beside him, which _sounds_ like it has a pulse.

“Corey, cut it out,” the girls snaps, reaching out and slapping at the wall. A kid appears out of nowhere, his cheeks flushed but his eyes bright.

“If you keep being mean to me, I'm going to tell Liam you still have that necklace he gave you at prom.”

“Shut up!”

“Um,” Derek clears his throat, shifting on his feet. “Can I go into the kitchen now or?” Invisiboy - Corey, whatever - flushes and pulls the girl out of the way by the waistband of her pants. “Thank you.” Derek pushes past them into the kitchen, setting the bags on the counter. He can feel the two betas (or, he assumes they’re Scott’s betas, even though they don’t smell quite like werewolves, or really anything he’s ever encountered before) watching him, but he ignores them, trying to figure out where things go.

Ten minutes later he’s given up trying to figure out the “system” to the kitchen (there is NO system. None at all. It is actually the worst and he cannot deal), and is doing a major overhaul.

“Um, my name’s Hayden.” Derek looks up from where he’s kneeling in front of the fridge, garbage bag full of expired food on one side and a stack of mostly condiments and beer on the other, to find that the betas have migrated to sit at the counter and are watching him warily. “And this is Corey.” Hayden tilts her head towards Invisiboy, who looks like he might be thinking of disappearing again. Derek recognizes the names, knows they were part of the Chimera pack before Scott gave them a chance to repent and join his own pack. He can still remember the way he felt when Braeden had come to pick him and Cora up from where they were staying down in Brazil, her face grim and jaw set as she described the hell that Scott and his pack had gone through. It had felt like the ground had tilted beneath his feet, and he was _angry_. Angry that someone had hurt his friends, angry that no one had called him, angry that he hadn’t been there to protect them.

“That explains the invisibility thing,” Derek grumbles, trying not to smirk at the confused looks on Hayden and Corey’s face.

“Can’t you turn into an actual wolf?” Corey asks after a beat.

“Stiles says you’re like werewolf Jesus,” Hayden adds.

“And Scott said you’ve come back from the dead like three times.”

“Liam told me that your control was like, the best he’d ever seen.”

“Malia says you're her cousin, and you’re the only member of her biological family she talks about.”

“Lydia says she knocked you out once.”

“Deputy Parrish always gets this sad look on his face when someone brings you up.”

“Not as sad as Scott though.”

“Kira said you taught her how to backflip off a car.”

“Mason said-”

“Okay enough,” Derek holds up a hand to stop them. He can feel his cheeks starting to heat, so he sticks his head back in the fridge, stacking beer on the first shelf. “Just ask me what you want to know.” The kitchen falls silent, but when he glances back at Corey and Hayden, they seem to be communicating with a complicated system of eyebrow raises.

“Why’d it take you so long to come back?” Hayden finally asks, her voice soft like she thinks he might not answer her. He considers it, considers telling her to fuck off and that it’s too personal. But something's changed, and he’s reached the point where he might be ready to talk about it.

“My entire family was murdered here,” he shrugs, reaching for the bag of veggies he bought and loading them into the crisper. “It’s not exactly a happy place for me.”

“So why’d you come back?” Corey asks, followed by what sounds like Hayden smacking his arm. Derek blows a breath out of his nose, staring blankly at the glaring white light of the refrigerator. Why did he come back?

“Because this is home.” There’s more to say, like this is where his pack is, his alpha, a group of people that make him feel safe. He doesn’t share that though, choosing to keep it to himself.

“I get that,” Hayden murmurs. She’s tracing a pattern on the counter when Derek looks up at her, serious. “My sister wanted us to leave after… everything, but as much as I hate this fucking place, I feel like I need to be here.” Corey nods in agreement, and Derek is taken aback by the solemnity that seems to surround the pair. It’s like they’re veterans of war, and they kind of are. Derek forgets sometimes that he’s not alone in his pain, that he’s not the only one who’s had his life fucked up.

A silence falls over the kitchen, but it’s more comfortable than it probably should be. It might be because Derek’s instincts recognize these two as pack, or maybe it’s because he’s surrounded by the scent of Scott and Stiles and _home_ , but either way he feels fairly safe. After he finishes organizing the fridge, he moves onto the cupboards, pulling information out of the pair of betas as he goes. Hayden’s still working on a degree in hospitality, with Lydia’s promise to be her business partner and turn her old lake house into a Bed & Breakfast. Corey works part time for Stiles; apparently his invisibility shtick is pretty useful in the private investigation business. Both of them help out at Liam’s gym, teaching classes and as part of the mentor program.

Derek’s in the middle of making them lunch (turkey avocado wraps) when the front door bangs open. He tenses on instinct, but Hayden and Corey don’t seem to care, both of them devouring the wraps like they haven’t eaten in days (which, judging by the previous state of the pack kitchen, Derek isn’t necessarily surprised).

“Miscreants,” Stiles breezes into the kitchen, looking well… slightly ridiculous. He’s wearing khakis and a button down shirt, his hair slicked back and a pen bleeding through his front pocket. The most annoying part is that he still looks _good_ , like a hot math teacher or something. Derek hates it. “Der-Bear.” Derek scowls at him, even as he moves to pull out another wrap.

“Don’t call me that,” he huffs, slapping turkey onto the wrap with a little more force than necessary. “Would you like some lunch?”

“Hell yeah,” Stiles grins and levers himself up onto the counter, the backs of his shoes knocking against the cupboards. “I see you’ve met the pups-” He grins at the discontented noises coming from Hayden and Corey, and warmth trickles down Derek’s spine. “Already settling into the role of pack mom I see, I knew there was a reason we needed you here.”

“Says the guy dressed like a member of the PTA,” Derek shoves the turkey wrap in Stiles direction. “All you’re missing is a fanny pack.”  Stiles just grins at him, eyelashes fluttering as he takes a bite of his wrap. Derek forces himself to look away, cheeks pinking up when he finds Hayden smirking at him. Which is rude really, he barely knows the girl, she has no room to be making assumptions about _anything_. Derek glares at her and takes a bite of his own sandwich, wishing it didn’t feel so _good_ to have people teasing him. Maybe he hadn’t been as happy living alone as he’d thought.

“So what have you guys been…” Stiles’ eyes narrow on the garbage bag full of discarded food. “What is that?” Derek doesn’t even try to stop himself from smirking this time. He knows his little stunt in the kitchen will piss Stiles off, if only because it’s a change to the norm.

“Derek cleaned out the fridge,” Hayden offers gleefully, fingers dancing across her phone. She’s probably twittering this or something. Stiles grumbles and jumps off the counter, still chomping on his wrap as he throws open the refrigerator.

“Where’s my Monster?”

“You shouldn’t drink that shit Stiles, it’s bad for you.”

“Where. Is. It.”

Derek sighs. “On the right hand side behind the orange juice.” Apparently satisfied, Stiles straightens with a sniff, moving on to opening and closing all the cabinets.

“Now I know how my dad feels,” he grumbles, glaring at the bag of discarded food.

“I only threw out the stuff that had gone bad Stiles, relax.”

"If I can't find my Doritos later I will make your life hell." Derek just rolls his eyes, deciding it's not worth it to say something along the lines of the fact that his life has already been hell, and there's nothing Stiles could do to return him to that. Instead he fakes a smile, knowing it will only raise Stiles' hackles more. "I can't believe I agreed to let you live here with me."

In the past Derek might have taken offense at that, but Stiles' tone is bordering on fond, and all it does is make him duck his head. He's saved from any further feeling by the beep of a horn, the moving truck having arrived. Derek hurries out to greet them, trying to ignore the way Stiles scrambles to follow him.

Two guys hop out of the truck when he opens the front door, young and muscular in the way that physical labor tends to encourage. One of them is hot, even, with deep smooth skin, an easy smile and a square jaw. He holds out his hand when Derek approaches, shaking it firmly and introducing himself as Jared. Derek finds himself smiling back, though it slips away when Stiles sidles up beside him and throws an arm around his waist.

He's smirking like he thinks he's funny, but Derek can smell the subtle bitter shift in his scent. It reminds him of the way Stiles used to smell when he'd see Lydia with Aiden, this sort of righteous jealousy or something. But Stiles has a boyfriend, Stiles has Scott, and he has no room to be jealous of Derek _smiling_ at a hot guy.

"Thanks for driving out here guys," Derek continues, his smile turning brittle as Jared's eyes flick between him and Stiles. "Let's get this stuff unloaded."

It's not much, a few boxes of clothes and knick knacks he's collected over his years in Kansas, some framed pictures of Cora and Braeden, a couple of the pack that he'd sheepishly downloaded from Facebook and had blown up. There's several boxes of books, some supernatural, but most not. He tends to collect books more than things, more than memories, even, though he thinks it might be because reading allows him to escape this life and enter another one. Stiles helps unload everything without comment, though Derek's almost positive he gets a little teary eyed when he pops open the box of photographs. That alone is enough for Derek to forgive him for the jealousy earlier. Plus, he gets to watch Jared and Mike, the other mover, unload his couch and dresser, their biceps and shoulders flexing attractively.

"The big one thinks you're hot," Hayden whispers, both of them watching Jared and Mike carry the couch into the house. "I caught him checking out your ass earlier."

Derek considers Jared for a moment. He's an adult, he could ask if they were staying in town for the weekend, could invite Jared out for drinks, could hypothetically get an orgasm with a hot guy out of the whole thing. But then Stiles comes bounding down the stairs, eyes bright, with Scott's laughter echoing out of the phone held up to his ear. They make eye contact across the room, and Derek suddenly knows that he just couldn't. He can picture it clearly in his mind, because Jared would say yes, he can smell it on him, but the night would end awkwardly, either with him not being able to get it up, or maybe calling Jared the wrong name, like Stiles... or Scott.

"I'm too old for hooking up," he says to Hayden, trying to ignore the blush rising on his cheeks at her inquisitive look.

"You're never too old for hooking up," she informs him with a smirk before her expression softens. "But I think I get it."

Mike and Jared leave not long after, apparently pleased with the healthy tip Derek had pressed into their hands. Somewhere along the line, Derek had made it his mission to get rid of as much of his money as he feasibly can, while still living comfortably. A lot of it went to charity, but most of it went to people, individuals who looked like they could use it.

 

Scott arrives home not long after, the sound of his car's engine audible long before he pulls into the driveway.

"Hey man, I forgot to tell you I totally dig your ride," he announces as he bounds in, sliding his hands across each of the present pack members cheeks before greeting Stiles with a kiss. "And I also heard you have a picture of the pack from graduation framed." He looks so happy about, grinning widely with his eyes squinting up, that Derek can only summon a halfhearted growl in Stiles' direction.

"Those were private."

"Nothing's private in the pack house dude," Stiles laughs, waving over his shoulder as Hayden and Corey slip out the door.

"Were Hayden and Cor okay? I forgot to tell them that you'd be here today?" Scott disappears into what Derek thinks is the laundry room, returning a few minutes later in only his boxers. Though the scrubs he'd been wearing had smelled a lot like cat piss, Derek isn't really sure if stripping had been absolutely necessary. He can't help but look, though, at Scott's corded arms and rippling abdominals and impressive chest. He wants to get his mouth on him, wants to memorize the lines of the tattoos that decorate his chest and arms. His eyes catch on what looks suspiciously like a triskele peeking out from beneath the waistband of his briefs, and suddenly he has to look away, chest tight.

"Yeah they were fine," he forces out, ignoring the look Stiles gives him when his voice cracks. "I thought there was more of them though? Chimeras I mean?"

"Yeah-" Scott ambles over to the fridge, a pleased noise escaping his lips when he opens it. Derek fights back the urge to puff out his chest, proud of himself for pleasing his alpha. "There's two more. Tracy is in Arizona now I think... she uh, she has a lot of guilt. And she never really recovered from the whole coming back to life thing. And Josh's family moved back east, not sure where, but he and Corey keep in touch." Scott flops down on the couch beside Derek, hooking one of his legs over Derek's thighs like its normal. Though maybe it is; physical affection is common in werewolf packs, and though Scott and most of his pack is bitten, it's possible he's picked it up now that they've settled down. Even if it's just a pack thing, it makes Derek tense. Scott can't know what he's doing to him, so close and smelling so good with all that bare skin on display.

"I think Hayden likes him more than she likes me," Stiles interrupts, glaring at the TV as he flips through the channels. Scott laughs, popping open the can of soda he'd grabbed from the fridge.

"She gets all her information from Liam, I'm not surprised."

"This is true, Liam hates me." Stiles doesn't look all the upset about that fact, his lips lifting into a smirk. "He's about due for another life lesson... I should get Parrish to have Deputy Jackson pull him over or something."

Scott shakes his head, eyes meeting Derek's as he sips from his drink.

"I meant that Liam only ever bitches about you, but he, like, worships Der, though you might have a point."

He takes another sip, and Derek can't help but track the movement, the way he bares his neck without thinking, the slow bob of his throat. Scott shifts slightly, and the triskele tattoo comes into view again, a miniature version of Derek's on his right hip. Derek's fingers are pressing against it before he can stop himself, tracing the spirals with the pad of his finger. He freezes when he realizes what he's doing, glancing up at Scott, expecting teeth bared at most or a freaked out look in the least. Instead Scott looks almost fond, arching his back as he pulls his briefs lower, exposing the full tattoo.

The movement makes Derek's mouth go dry, mind already jumping ahead to the things he could be doing to Scott to make him bend like that, to make him beg.

"It's for you," Scott explains almost shyly. Derek feels hot all over, but he ignores it, reaching out with a tentative finger to trace the spirals again. This time he’s fully aware of what he’s doing, totally in tune the Scott’s silky smooth skin beneath the pad of his finger, the pulse of his blood just beneath the surface. His eyes catch on the delicate arrows inked on the inside of Scott’s wrist, and the word _breathe_ tattooed over his heart. There’s more, undoubtedly all for his pack, meticulously drawn (and then burned, he reminds himself) onto Scott’s skin.

“Wow,” Derek whispers, not even caring that his heart is clearly on his sleeve. The implication alone, that Scott considers him pack enough to get it permanently inked on his body has another puzzle piece clicking into place. Of course, he’s always known that Scott has accepted him as pack, but this is permanent, this is _real_. It’s comforting to say the least, and Derek finds himself relaxing into the couch, hand spread across Scott’s thigh as his focus shifts to the episode of Seinfeld Stiles is watching. For the first time in a long time, Derek feels like he’s home.

 

* * *

 

Derek isn't nearly surprised as he thinks he should be at how easy it is for him to fall asleep that night. Usually he's hyper vigilant, feeling the need to check the locks and windows at least twice before bed, sleeping only lightly so that he's ready at any moment. Part of the ease is probably due to Scott. It's part of a werewolf's instinct, to feel unerringly safer when in the presence of their alpha. But there's something more.

The bedroom walls are soundproofed, Stiles informs him as they head up to bed. But everyone leaves their doors cracked unless they are doing something that should be kept private. (At that, Stiles shoots a glare at Malia's back; she just grins at him). The sound of Malia's snoring and Liam's soft breathing, and the quiet whispers coming from Scott and Stiles' room as they get ready for bed, remind him of his mother's house. Laura's heartbeat used to lull him to sleep every night, and if he ever had nightmares, the sound of Peter and his wife Connie laughing always seemed to chase the monsters away.

Derek's not at all that surprised when Jordan and Stilinski approach him the next day, doing their best to nonchalantly ask him about applying to be a deputy. It's almost comical really, the way the pair of them think they're being at all sneaky about it. Derek thinks about it for a day before filling out the application, feeling pleased at the thought of possibly having an actual purpose every day. Stilinski is elated, and Derek's pretty sure he finds himself in a deputy's uniform in way less time than it's supposed to take.

Things fall into an easy routine after that. He wakes up at five and runs to Jordan and Lydia's house, where Jordan joins him. They loop out through the preserve, stopping back at Jordan's for shakes. On weekends Lydia joins them, matching Jordan stride for stride. Then Derek jogs home, showers up and heads in for his shift. Tuesday is referred to as Taco Tuesday in the pack house. Though it doesn't always feature tacos, it does feature Scott (and sometimes Melissa) cooking up traditional Mexican recipes. Friday nights are pack nights, and everyone piles into the living room and fills up on take out and bad movies. There's constantly a different mix of people in the house, thanks to Scott's on call status and Stiles' cases and the open door policy. Derek finds himself purposefully trying to bond with the pack members he never really got to know, and he and Isaac have a standing coffee date on Thursday afternoons.

He spends a lot of time at Lydia and Jordan's, watching the game on Sundays and cracking open a beer after work. Their house seems so... grown up to him, but it might just be because the pack house seems to resemble a frat more often than not. Even with all of the occupants full grown and with respectable jobs, there's always dirty dishes in the sink and laundry everywhere and beer cans overflowing from the recycling bin. Derek doesn't mind it, but he does appreciate the clean orderliness that Lydia maintains in her home.

He and Jordan are discussing their most recent case over leftover pizza when Lydia walks in. It's late, almost eight, but she looks as put together as ever, though Derek doesn't miss the way her smile looks a little frayed around the edges. She kicks off her heels with a sigh, padding over to the counter and pressing a kiss to the corner of Jordan's mouth. Derek can't help but laugh when she uses the distraction to steal a piece of pizza, dancing out of Jordan's reach with a smirk.

"So," she says, hopping up onto the counter. "Derek, you seem to have settled back into Beacon Hills pretty well." The look on her face has Derek scowling without even knowing why, dread creeping down his spine.

"Yup." He forces a grin, hoping she'll leave it alone. Of course, she doesn't. Ever.

"Any special lady caught your eye?"

Derek feels his cheeks heating up before he can even think to stop it, and he knows Lydia will have to catch it. Hell, even Jordan can probably tell, he's never been able to be discreet with his embarrassment.

"No," he growls, taking a vicious bite of his pizza in hopes of perhaps intimidating her or something.

"Ah," Lydia's expression actually softens slightly, though she's still smirking. "Special gentleman?" He's expecting Jordan to do something dramatic, like choke on his beer or whip his head around, but instead his friend is just nodding like it makes sense. Which is almost worse honestly, there's no way he's going to be able to hide his feelings for long.

"I'm not good for relationships," he grumbles, staring resolutely at the grease stain on his paper plate. "And relationships aren't good for me."

"Hey," Jordan bumps their shoulders softly. "I know you've been dealt a shit hand, man, and I'm not saying that anybody needs to have anyone else. But if that's something you want, I'm sure there's someone or someones out there for you."

Derek narrows his eyes, not for the first time feeling like Jordan can see right through them.

"Oh."

He glances up to find Lydia smiling widely, like she just figured out the last piece of a puzzle. And she probably has, probably knows exactly how Derek feels about two of his roommates. He's expecting her to smirk, expecting her to offer to help him, to offer some sort of a plan. Instead she just nods, like she gets it, and maybe Derek's not the only one that's done a lot of growing up over the past eight years.

The conversation turns back to the case within moments, Lydia disappearing upstairs with a bored flick of her hair. For the first time Derek thinks that maybe his feelings are actually okay.

 

"Where have you been?" Stiles grumbles from the living room when Derek gets home, sounding tired and grumpy. The gravel to his voice makes Derek's skin feel too tight, but he shakes it off, tossing his keys into the basket by the door.

"I was a Jordan and Lyd’s," he explains, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his jacket. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he ambles into the living room. Scott and Stiles are tangled together on the end of the couch Derek brought with him, and Malia and Liam are sitting on the other, stretched out with their legs overlapping in the middle.

"Oh, being a grownup," Malia rolls her eyes, tapping at her phone. Derek sticks his tongue out at her (there's just something about this house that brings everyone's maturity down by a couple of years, he swears) and flops down onto the couch occupied by Scott and Stiles. A scuffle immediately follows, but Derek ignores it, choosing instead to focus on the TV until feet land in his lap.

Four feet.

What the hell?

Sighing, Derek glances down the couch to find Scott and Stiles stretched out next to each other, slid down far enough so that their feet are touching him. It's weird, is what it is, but Derek doesn't mind, not when he has Scott and Stiles rubbing their scent all over him. There's other parts of them he would prefer to have touching him other than their feet, but he's willing to take what he can get. Twin sighs of contentment emit from the far side of the couch when he wraps a hand around one tan foot and one pale, bony one, rubbing his thumbs across the balls of the feet. He's tempted to press too hard, to make Stiles squirm and jerk his feet away, to make Scott giggle and probably roll off the couch, but the need for contact wins out.

He can feel Malia watching him with those sharp eyes, probably dissecting the miniscule changes in his scent and body language. Perhaps he should be trying harder to hide it, since he knows how, but he can't find it in himself to do so. Scott and Stiles initiated this contact, and he's not about to turn it down. He's not doing anything wrong; he's sure Lydia would have said something if she thought it was wrong, so maybe he doesn't have to deny himself any and all happiness.

But when he looks up, Malia _and_ Liam are smiling almost softly at them, both their bodies relaxed like this is something they'd been hoping for. Derek ducks his head to hide a smile, pressing his thumb into the arch of Stiles' foot a little too hard, just to hear him squawk.

* * *

 

"Hey."

Derek glances up from his paperwork to find Scott hovering in front of his desk, biting his lip in that way that makes warmth pool in the pit of his stomach.

"Scott," he smiles without thinking, before reality crashes in and he realizes something might be wrong. Scott never shows up at the station unannounced, unless he and Stiles are bringing Stilinski lunch. It's always a supernatural problem that brings him there, whether he's bringing something to the attention of Parrish or conferring with Stilinski on a case. "Is everything okay? Is something wrong?"

"Derek relax," Scott laughs, leaning across the desk and wrapping warm fingers around the back of Derek's neck. He leans into the touch on instinct, eyes fluttering when Scott rubs his thumb against his pulse. "I just want to take you out to lunch."

Derek's nodding before he even opens his eyes, flipping the report he was working on closed and standing up. Scott's smile is so warm it makes Derek feel like he's slowly melting, heating up from the inside out.

 

"I feel a lot better having you back," Scott admits as he drags a fry through a puddle of ketchup, cheeks flushing like he's shy. "I didn't... I don't know why."

"An alpha likes to have their pack close," Derek shrugs. "When my older brother Nick left for college my mom took it pretty hard."

"Yeah," Scott agrees, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. Derek wants to do that, wants to sink his own teeth into Scott's plush bottom lip, wants to soothe the sting with his tongue. He flicks his gaze away with a jerk, cursing the flush he can feel crawling up his neck.

Scott's watching him with soft eyes, his scent changing subtly, sweetening and making Derek's mouth water. He doesn't know what it means, isn't sure he wants to find out, but he can't help but want to bury his face in the crook of Scott's neck. "It wasn't the same when we were all at college though, or when Isaac went back to France for six months." Scott cocks his head, the tendons in his neck flexing enough to make Derek's mouth water. "It's different with you."

"We're-" Derek stops himself, the word 'brothers' burning on the tip of his tongue. That's the last thing he wants to say, especially when he's thinking about how badly he wants to taste the ink he can see curling around Scott's shoulder. "I can feel it too." He admits instead, his initial embarrassment dissipating in the face of Scott's sunny smile.

"Good," Scott grins, like maybe that was all he wanted to hear. "Now eat your burger, I can't let my beta go hungry."

 

"I think the Santiago pack is going to make another run at us," Scott says quietly as they walk back to the station, shoulders bumping. "Their alpha is intent on taking something, anything, away from me." His eyes flash briefly red, the power crashing over Derek and pulling him in like a rip tide. "Just uh, I know you do anyways, but they haven't made an attempt since you came back, so keep your eyes open."

"I will," Derek replies, ducking his head to hide the pleased smile pulling at his lips.

"You're important to me," Scott continues as if he hadn't spoken. "And if Kane gets word of that he'll..." He trails off, but Derek doesn't miss the way his words go thick, like maybe his mouth is suddenly filled with too many teeth. Derek reaches for his hand without thinking, squeezing it gently.

"I'll be careful. I promise."

* * *

 

Derek should have known better than to make any sort of promise, and he should have known better than to forget about said promise. But it's easier now to forget things. For the past decade all he's done is remember, spending all of his time alone and hurting. Living with the pack is distracting, but in a good way. Derek finds himself smiling more now, for no reason, and laughing more than he has since he was fifteen and naive. There's a part of him that wants to be angry at himself, but there's a smaller yet stronger part that knows he's finally healing.

"I like this, you know," Stiles says one night, waving a spoon covered in gravy in Derek's direction. Derek arches an eyebrow as he wipes a drip of gravy off of his cheek. He licks it off without a thought, humming in approval. The sound of Stiles' groan has him glancing back up, only to find that Stiles has turned away, the back of his neck turning pink.

"You like what?"

"This smiling thing," Stiles explains without turning around, though he does wave the spoon again. "It's a... I like this Derek. Kinda miss the old growly one that used to push me up against walls and shit but you know..." The flush on the back of his neck darkens, but Derek doesn't really know why.

"I can push you around a bit if you want," he offers, laughing when Stiles makes an affronted noise. "For old times’ sake."

"Sounds kinky."

Derek flinches at the sound of Scott's voice, a little annoyed at himself for not hearing the alpha approach. He's half expecting Scott to be angry, or at least possessive, marking Stiles like territory after hearing a potentially flirtatious conversation. Instead Scott slides into the stool beside Derek, rubbing his warm hand over Derek's hair and down the length of his spine. Derek sighs and arches unabashedly into the touch. He knows he can play it off as instinct, this need to be touched and scented by his alpha, so he takes advantage of it as much as he can.

"Let's not get started on kinky Scotty," Stiles finally turns around with a smirk pulling at his mouth, brown eyes sparkling in the kitchen lights. Scott laughs and pulls his hand away, though his arm still brushes against Derek's as he leans on the counter.

"Tell me more about how Derek used to push you up against walls." Scott's voice is low and gravelly like he gets when he's tired, but the look on his face is anything but, his scent sweetening again like it did that time in the diner.

"Why are you saying it like that," Derek pouts. "I was trying to be intimidating."

"Yeah, while trying to hide out in my fucking bedroom!" Stiles butts in, shaking his spoon in Scott's direction. "Such a grand plan, hiding out in the sheriff's sixteen-year-old son's bedroom."

"Still kinky," Scott smirks, dimples appearing in his cheeks as both Derek and Stiles blush. "And to think that your dad loves Derek now." Stiles huffs, the blush already fading from his cheeks.

"Oh my god if I hear one more time how great Derek is I'm going to stab something. I know how great he is _Dad_ , I don't need to hear about it on our weekly calls. Those are supposed to be dedicated to Dad pretending he doesn't realize I'm trying to pump him for information for my cases. But noooo, now we gotta talk about Derek and his perfect record and his perfect everything and-"

Scott grins at Derek before leaning against him, his head resting in his shoulder.  It's perfect, really, the sound of Stiles' voice in his ears and Scott's hair tickling his skin, and the smell of pack and home surrounding everything. For the first time in a long time, Derek can't think of anything more he wants.

 

"Hale."

Derek pushes up out of his chair and heads into the Sheriff's office, where both Stilinski and Parrish are sitting side by side at the desk. The sight never fails to make him laugh, especially since he's pretty sure the whole idea for them to share a desk to make the transition easier came from Stiles. As a joke.

"We got a call about a suspicious animal sighting. Sounds an awful lot like a werewolf." Parrish's tone is clipped, professional. "Can you check it out? It's just outside of the county line on route 42."

"Sure," Derek nods and spins on his heel, grabbing the keys for the cruiser he and Parrish share off of his desk. It's a little weird, that Stiles or Mason haven't reported anything triggering the magic that lines their territory, but, then again, Parrish did say it was just on the other side of the county line. There are some places where the McCall territory crosses over into the next county, but that's on the north end, and this part of Rte. 42 is in the south. There's _something_ niggling in the back of Derek's head, but he can't place it. So he ignores it. Back in the old days he wouldn't have been able to let it go, but things are good now. It's probably just something silly anyways, like a memory from high school that happened out on that road.

Driving through Beacon Hills has finally become normal again, like it used to be when he'd ride around in his grandfather's Nova. Every mile doesn't send a pinprick of pain through his heart, the memories that pop up around every corner just making him smile. Of course, he prefers to make the drive in his Camaro, with the rumble of the engine between him and the road, but the cruiser isn't too bad. He likes that he shares it with Jordan, likes that he can smell Lydia's perfume faintly and Kira's shampoo from the time she'd rode around with him last week. The cruiser feels like an extension of home, it feels safe.

Looking back, Derek should have known that something wasn't right the minute he crossed the county line.

The scent of another werewolf hits him like a train, filtering through the cracked window and the AC system in the car. A werewolf is standing in the road, fully shifted, waiting for him. Derek jerks the car off the road and slams it into park, forgoing his gun to throw the door open and jump. The shift comes over him easily like it always does, vision tinged with blue, muscles and bones reforming as he changes shape. The strange werewolf starts to run, but something’s wrong, he's going too slow, too deliberate.

It's a trap, he realizes a second too late, as another body slams into him, knocking him to the ground. Derek snarls and struggles to his feet, only to have a needle jabbed into his neck. He lashes out, but his limbs already feel heavy, and his eyelids start to droop.

"No," Derek tries to growl, but all that comes out is a whimper. And then everything goes black.

* * *

 

"Kane have you lost your mind?"

Derek wiggles his fingers, keeping his eyes closed as he comes too. The air surrounding him smells overwhelmingly of werewolf, strange werewolf, but stale, _old_. He’s dressed in clothes that feel all wrong, too tight around his arms and thighs and smelling like a stranger.

"Oh come on, Mama, I know what I'm doing."

"If Talia were alive she'd have your life."

"If Talia were alive, then that punk ass McCall wouldn't have the largest territory in California."

Derek snarls without thinking, eyes flashing open as he lunges towards the voice. He only makes it a few inches before he's thrown back, a mountain ash barrier shimmering in the air momentarily.

"Ah," the owner of the voice, a young man around his own age with an oily smile and even greasier hair, grins, stepping away from the aging woman he was whispering with. Derek recognizes her from his childhood, Marie Santiago. He figures this must be her son, Kane, the one Scott warned him about, who has taken over as alpha. "McCall's really got the Stockholm Syndrome thing down huh?"

"What the fuck do you want?" Derek growls through his teeth, not even trying to pull back the shift.

"Aw come on, Derek, don't be like that!" Kane drags over a chair, settling across from Derek on the other side of the mountain ash barrier. "I'm trying to help you."

Derek glares, hoping his disgust at Kane's unbuttoned shirt and white linen pants is obvious. "Drugging me, taking me from my home, and trapping me behind mountain ash doesn't seem a whole lot like helping."

"Precaution," Kane shrugs, as if it's nothing, as if taking away someone's free will isn't a huge deal. "I figured you'd react poorly. I've seen the way McCall manipulates people." Derek growls again, baring his teeth when Kane laughs. "Come on Derek! That kid took away your home! He took your family's territory from the rightful owners without even earning it!"

"So you're saying that if he killed my mother, he would have earned it?" Derek snaps, digging his claws into his palms. He needs to calm down, needs to think clearly, needs to figure out how he's going to get himself out of this one.

"Of course not!" Kane laughs again, but this time it's brittle, and Derek can smell the way his scent sours slightly with nerves. "A Hale should be the alpha of the Hale territory, not some bitten brat."

"Scott McCall is a better man than you could ever try to be," Derek says seriously, pulling back the shift. "I'd like to go home now."

Kane grins then, the kind of smile that makes Derek's hackles rise, the way Peter's used to. "Sorry Hale, but no." He stands with flourish, winking at Derek over his shoulder as goes.

Derek flips him off.

(He's been living in a practical frat house for three months, give him a break).

 

Derek's beginning to wonder if Scott will ever come. He's sure they have to know he's missing, he never returned from the call, his cruiser is sitting abandoned on the side of route 42. But it's been almost a day, and as far as he can tell, no rescues have been attempted.

Kane's been back three times, with the same, twisted commentary about how Scott doesn't deserve the Hale land, how he doesn't deserve to be an alpha, how he doesn't deserve to have a beta with Hale bloodlines. Derek had tried arguing with him at first, saying how a true alpha deserves it more than anything, how Scott _is_ technically a Hale, bitten by Peter, after all, even saying how horrible being an alpha actually was, once the power rush wore off. Kane seems undeterred; if anything it makes him angrier, lashing out with his claws, eyes glowing red on and off throughout the conversation. Marie Santiago flits in the background, concern etched on her weathered face. Derek wants to feel sorry for her, but she had to have willingly passed her alpha power on to her son when he obviously wasn't the right choice. The Santiago Pack had always been his mother's greatest ally, though California had been peaceful then, prior to the return of the Argents and the rise of the alpha pack. Pack relations had consisted more of picnics on neutral grounds and meeting up for full moon runs. Derek can remember Kane now too, scrawny but mean, the one who always took jokes too far.

By the time the sun starts to sink for the second time, Derek stops talking. At this point, anything he says could be potentially used against Scott. Kane seems to be growing more and more agitated the longer Derek stays loyal. It's only a matter of time before he figures out that Derek's loyalty is more than just beta to alpha, more than just brother to brother.

Moonlight filters through the windows, glinting off the gold leaf lettering on the spines of the ancient books stacked along the walls. Mason, Stiles and Lydia would go crazy in here, with whole volumes dedicated to singular supernatural species. Derek's managed to make it halfway through a particularly interesting one on harpies when he feels it. It's like a surge of electricity racing up his spine, urging him to his feet.

"Where do you think you're going?" Kane seems to appear out of nowhere, leaning against the doorway in an actual velvet pajama set. God. Derek hates him.

He doesn't answer, too focused on listening to the sound of steady heartbeats coming closer and closer. Kane doesn't seem to hear them yet, and Derek realizes with a start that they're almost a mile away. It's the first time he's felt an actual physical connection to Scott's pack, his pack, and he feels light headed with the realization. _His_ pack.

 

It takes another thirty seconds for the panic to set in, crawling up from the tips of his toes and curling around his thighs, winding between his ribs like ivy. The Santiago pack isn't huge, but they're strong, established, with a strong connection to this territory dating back centuries. They've been in California longer than the Hales, have weathered World Wars and Gold Rushes and _Hollywood_ without being discovered. Although Scott and the pack have conquered insurmountable evils, taking on another pack in their own territory is a risk that may not be worth it. Rescuing Derek might not be worth it.

He forces the panic back, hoping that someone, Stiles maybe, is trying to talk some sense into Scott. This is a terrible idea, they shouldn't be here, they should just let Derek figure out how to get out on his own. Or maybe they should call Braeden and Cora, have them come in toting guns and knives, with murder in their eyes and lies that flow easily from their tongues. It wouldn't take much to convince Kane that some other pack was after Derek, and that Braeden had been paid off to bring him somewhere else. She knows how to twist her words, how to bat her eyelashes and throw her fists and shoot a gun.

But the heart beats keeping drawing closer, loud and strong and _angry_. Derek's able to parse them out know, can count eleven over the hum of tires on asphalt. It's all of them then, all of throwing their lives on the line. It's stupidly brave, and Derek loves them for it, even if he wishes they would've just stayed home.

Kane's eyes glow blood red in the darkness, and Derek knows he can hear them know too, can probably feel the magic of his territory fluctuating.

"The brat pack has arrived." Kane grins, slow and easy, like he's not at all concerned. Derek holds in a laugh. It's obvious now that Kane has no idea what he's dealing with, has absolutely no clue the hell that's about to rain down on him. He steps fully into the library, lounging across a dusty old arm chair without concern. Derek tilts his head, listening to the steadiness of his heartbeat. Kane's unafraid, and that alone will be his downfall. Derek's always known that a little bit of fear is good. It keeps him on his toes, keeps him from getting complacent. When it comes to facing down a pack a werewolves, no matter the size or who the alpha is, a little bit of fear is necessary.

Kane has none.

"You should be protecting your pack," Derek growls into the silence, narrowing his eyes when Kane laughs.

"My pack can handle a half assed pack of bitten wolves and humans," Kane smirks at him. "They'll be bringing McCall in here by the scruff of his neck."

Derek can't help but grin at that, the kind of grin he hasn't used in a while, something between a threat and a smirk. A flicker of wariness passes through Kane's eyes then, and Derek can almost hear him think that maybe, just maybe, he should go and check on his pack. He sits forward in his chair, head tilted to the side as he listens, whole body tensing like he's going to make a move.

Before he can, the library door bursts open with a roar that makes Derek's eyes flicker blue in response. Scott steps in, almost unrecognizable in his shift, with blood streaked across his face and his claws almost dragging the ground. He makes eye contact with Derek first, shifting his attention to Kane when Derek nods. Stiles and Kira flank him, Stiles with a bloodied baseball bat over one shoulder and a sawed off shotgun in his other hand, Kira wielding her katana. Derek can hear the others now, Jordan and Mason's consoling whispers, Malia and Liam's growls, Isaac and Lydia snapping at each other.

Kane knows it's over, Derek can smell the shift in his scent, can hear the way his heart is beating steadily faster.

"Care to explain why you're keeping my beta against his will?" Scott's words are slurred around his fangs, but they're still dangerous, low and threatening.

"Hale is the rightful heir to the territory you've stolen." Kane doesn't sound so sure of his words now, his voice cracking slightly as Scott advances on him. "You don't deserve it."

"That's between me and Derek," Scott whispers, this time clearly, his fangs no longer glinting in the moonlight. "And none of your goddamn business."

Kane growls low in his throat and rises to his full height. He's got a few inches on Scott, but he exudes none of the power. "I was promised a Hale." His voice drops an octave as his eyes flash, eerily dark. "I was supposed to marry a Hale and merge our territories. You can't stop me from getting it."

Scott moves so fast he almost blurs, clawed fingers curling around Kane's neck and pushing him up against a shelf of books. They clatter to the ground around them, but Scott doesn’t seem to notice, fangs bared dangerously.

"Derek. Is. Mine."

The words seem to curl around Derek's heart, etching themselves onto his ribs permanently. He wants to whine, wants to wrap himself around Scott and breathe in his scent, wants to beg Scott to keep him forever.

"Come on." Stiles is standing in front of him, scuffed toe of his Adidas breaking the mountain ash line. "Let's get out of here before Scott really loses his cool."

"I heard that," Scott grins at them over his shoulder as they shuffle carefully over the pieces of the library door, his hand still firmly around Kane's neck. "I'll just be a minute."

"What's he gonna do?" Derek asks as Stiles and Kira guide him down a dark hall, Kira's hand comforting where it rests at the small of his back.

"Probably give our friend Kane some inspirational speech about what it means to be an alpha," Stiles sighs like he's disappointed, pausing briefly in the doorway of what looks like the living room. What Derek guesses to be Kane's entire pack is gathered inside, the majority of them unharmed with the exception of a couple young men, who he figures must have been guards. The McCall pack is dispersed among them, chatting quietly with the children and some of the older adults. A few of the young adults seem unwelcoming, glaring sullenly at Stiles when he grins cheekily at them. "We got Big D," Stiles announces to the room, laughing when Hayden scrambles to her feet and throws herself at Derek. Derek catches her tightly, stroking a hand through her hair before letting her go.

"If you died I was going to kill you," she hisses, lip quivering before she stalks away.

"Let's roll out." Stiles gestures with his bat, nodding once at Marie across the room before turning on his heel.

"Your mother would be proud of you Derek," Marie whispers before he turns away, expression fond and soft. "I love my son dearly, but he speaks out of turn." Derek takes a deep breath and nods solemnly, before allowing Kira to guide him out towards the door.

 

Stiles lets Derek sit in the front seat of Scott's car on the way home, which on any other day would be some sort of victory, but today doesn't hold any of the glory. Lydia and Jordan are squished in the back seat with him, while the rest of the pack is jammed into Liam's Durango.

"Why did he take you?" Lydia asks after a few minutes of nothing but the hum of tires on asphalt and the revving of the engine. "What was the point of all this?" She leans up into the front seat, elbows on the center console and long hair ticking Derek's arm.

"He just wanted me to overthrow Scott I think," Derek shrugs. "I don't know, he wasn't making much sense."

"He wanted Derek to be an alpha so he could force him into a marriage and obtain the Hale territory." Stiles explains, almost robotically. "He was under the illusion that Talia had promised his mom a marriage or something. Marie confirmed with me that that was completely untrue. The Santiagos had always wanted it, but Talia refused to force any of her children into a loveless marriage."

"What a douchenozzle." Jordan's irritated huff is unexpected, and it makes Derek lean back in his seat and laugh.

"You've got that right," he yawns, eyelids starting to feel heavy.

"We got like half an hour, Der," Lydia whispers, gentle hands pushing his hair back off his face. "Take a nap." Derek nods sleepily, eyes slipping shut. On the edges of sleep he realizes that Scott hasn't spoken, and when he tries to forces his eyes back open, all he can focus on is blood stained hands, trembling and white knuckled around the steering wheel.

 

Derek wakes up as they turn into the driveway. It takes him a moment to realize that Jordan and Lydia are no longer with them, and another moment to notice that the Durango isn't anywhere in sight.

"Malia's staying with Kira and Liam's crashing at Isaac's." Stiles answers his unasked question, voice gentler than usual as he climbs out of the car. Derek nods and follows suit, frowning after Scott's stiff back as he climbs the steps in front of them. The keys jingle violently in his hands as he tries to open the door, but Stiles is there, prying them away from Scott and pushing the door open.

"Scotty," Stiles whispers, ducking slightly so they're eye to eye. "You need to do whatever it is you need to do. You know I'm okay with it, we've talked about this." Scott nods, some of the tension leaching from his shoulders.

"Derek," Scott speaks for the first time, turning to him with wide and vulnerable eyes. "I need..." He pauses, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. "I'd like - Would you - Let me clean you up?" Derek nods immediately, slipping his fingers into Scott's outstretched hand. He's not really sure what he's agreeing to, but he trusts Scott, wants whatever Scott is willing to give him.

Scott leads him up the stairs and into the bathroom, closing the door behind them but not locking it. His expression is oddly serious as he strips out of his own shirt, tossing it in the overflowing laundry basket in the corner. He reaches for Derek's shirt next, gently pulling it over his head, then smoothing one hand down across his chest.

"You smell like him," he growls through his teeth, eyes flickering red.

"Wanna smell like you," Derek mumbles honestly, sighing when Scott slides his fingers across his abs. "Please."

Scott nods, still serious, stepping away and turning on the shower. Derek can't help but stare as he flicks open the button of his jeans and kicks off his boots, stripping completely bare in seconds. Derek follows suit with shaky hands, praying to the moon that his dick won't get hard embarrassingly soon.

He's not sure if this is supposed to be clinical or not, but he's pretty sure that nothing Scott ever does could be considered clinical. Scott's hands are too soft as he pulls him into the shower, the water not hot enough to be anything but comfortable. His fingers feel like they're exploring just as much as they're cleaning, spreading the suds of his body wash across Derek's skin. Derek wants to touch, wants to anchor himself with hands on Scott's hips, wants to taste the water running down Scott's neck, and wants to traces the spirals of the triskele on his hip with his tongue and his teeth.

It's Scott's fingers in his hair that pushes him over the edge, pulls a groan from deep within his chest. An apology is on the tip of his tongue when Scott's heart trips over itself.

"Yeah?" He half moans, tugging on Derek's hair until their eyes meet.

"Yeah," Derek breathes. Scott kisses him without preamble, mouth slick and hot against Derek's. Derek melts into it, finally giving in and touching Scott, running his hands up his back and down over his ass, squeezing and pulling him closer.

Their hard cocks brush, and it sends a thrill up Derek's spine, his hips grinding against Scott’s instinctively, seeking friction. Scott groans against his mouth, deep and low, before he pushes Derek back under the spray. Derek's sure he'll be embarrassed about the way he whines later, but right now all he can think about is getting back up against Scott. He needs it like he needs air, needs to be drenched in Scott’s _everything._

But Scott just laughs, warm chocolate eyes flicking across Derek's body. He reaches out and wipes a few stray bubbles away from his hip before sinking to his knees.

"What are you-" Derek's words get lost in a moan as Scott's tongue laps at the head of his dick. "Oh my god." Scott laughs again before sucking him down. Derek wants to watch but he can't, too overwhelmed by the slick heat of Scott's mouth and the fact that Scott (SCOTT!!) is on his knees for him. " _Scott_." Scott hums around his cock, white hot pleasure zinging up Derek's spine with it. "Scott I'm gonna - this is gonna be-" He halfheartedly tries to pull Scott off, groaning when Scott just sinks lower and swallows. Derek comes with a choked swear, his back arching as Scott takes it, his big hands gripping Derek's ass hard.

"You're so hot," he sighs when he pulls off, voice rough and gritty as he wipes the back of his hand across the mouth. Derek can barely even breathe, looking down on Scott with his lips puffy and swollen, a glow to his cheeks he's never seen before. He hauls him to his feet and kisses him, chasing the taste of himself and letting his hands slide across all that glorious bare skin.

Derek reaches for Scott's dick, intent on getting him off too, only to have Scott bat his hand away.

"Not yet," Scott grins up at him, reaching around him to turn off the water. "Come on." Derek lets Scott dry him off, and watches unabashedly as Scott dries himself. The flex and stretch of Scott's biceps, the way his tattoos move with him is mesmerizing, and Derek finds himself entranced, only jerking out of it when Scott throws the door open and the scent of Stiles comes rushing in.

Derek’s panic must show in his face, because Scott just shakes his head and reaches for his hand, pulling him along. Stiles is stretched out across their bed, one hand down his pants as he stares at the door.

"You guys were loud," he drawls, not stopping the motion of his hand as he stares. "What were you doing in there?"

"Why aren't you naked?" Scott asks instead of answering, stepping around Derek to shut the door before dropping his towel. Derek isn't exactly sure what's going on here, but it's not going nearly as badly as all the disaster scenarios he'd mulled over in his head. Instead of being jealous, Stiles smells unbelievably turned on, and he's _smiling_ as he wiggles out of his jeans, and _laughing_ as he throws them at Scott.

"Stop staring, Derek, and get the fuck over here," Stiles huffs, making grabby hands in Derek's direction. Scott nods and rolls his eyes when Derek looks to him for permission, like he thinks it’s ridiculous that Derek is even checking. And maybe he is; Scott and Stiles don’t seem to prescribe to the traditional monogamous relationship rules. Scott would never tell Stiles what he could or couldn’t have, so there’s no reason for Derek to seek permission. Stiles is his own person. They’re each their own person.

Derek got over the way people reacted to his looks a long time ago, but hearing the way both Scott and Stiles' hearts thump with interest when he drops his towel brings a pleased flush to his cheeks.

"God, you get hotter every time I see you," Stiles groans, cool fingers sliding up Derek's side and curling around his ribs, pulling him down onto the bed. "Scott, do you have a plan? Please tell me you have a plan, because I'm having a hard time thinking about a plan." Scott says something, but Derek can't focus, too distracted by the kisses Stiles is biting into his shoulders.

"Stiles," he groans, curling his fingers around Stiles’ jaw and pulling him up into a proper kiss. Stiles just moans and opens up to him, fucking his tongue into his mouth in time with the undulations of his hips. It's addicting, and Derek might have gotten lost in it, if Scott's hands hadn't appeared out of nowhere, burning hot on his hips.

"Fuck," Derek swears when Scott spreads his cheeks with his thumbs, but he arches into it, begging for anything Scott's willing to give him.

"You're going to kill me," Scott groans, and Stiles laughs beneath him, big hands sliding down his spine. Derek kisses Stiles to shut him up, pushing his ass back into Scott's hands.

He swears again at the wet sweep of Scott's tongue, from his balls all the way up to the base of his spine. Scott does it again and again, until Derek can feel the spit dripping down his crack. He shudders at the first catch of Scott's tongue against his rim, and he groans at the first pointed lick.

He's not sure when Stiles wiggles out from under him, not sure when Scott moved from exploratory licks to fucking him with his tongue, the tip of a thumb sliding in with it. All he knows is that his face is buried in a pillow that smells like Scott and Stiles and sex, and he's got big hands stroking up and down his back and across his chest and lips pressing soft kisses against his spine.

The soft snick of a cap being opened has him tensing in anticipation. Cold lube puddles in the small of his back, only to have warm fingers dip into it, swirling around.

"So good for me Der," Scott murmurs, nipping at one cheek. One finger pushes gently inside him, and Derek groans, trying to take it harder, faster. Scott chuckles and clamps a hand around his hip, holding him still as he fucks him slowly, so slowly.

There had been a couple of guys, one night stands, back in Kansas, but it’s been years since anyone but himself has touched him like this. Sex has always been a private thing with Derek, probably because there’s been too many times where it’s been used as a weapon against him. For him there needs to be trust for it to be good, and for the first (and perhaps only) time since Braeden, he definitely has it.

“Turn over for me." Scott punctuates his demand with a kiss to the base of Derek's spine. He can't help but obey, some kind of mix between wanting to please his alpha and just wanting to please Scott. Judging by the soft sound that Stiles makes, he has to look wrecked, lips bitten and desire written clearly on his face.

"I'm going to die." Stiles groans, bed bouncing as he flops back onto it. "Death By Derek Hale's Sex Face, you can put that on my headstone." Derek opens his mouth, a sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue, but it dissolves into a groan when Scott's finger circles his rim before pushing back in. "God, you've even got a pretty dick," Stiles continues, undeterred by the halfhearted glare Derek sends his way. "I don't know if I want to sit on it or lick it."

"Fuck," Derek swears, traitorous dick twitching, though he's not sure if it's from the imagery or Scott's second finger joining the first.

"I've already sucked him off once." Derek forces his eyes open to find Scott grinning proudly at a gaping Stiles. "You should ride him."

"Oh god." He's not sure if it was him or Stiles that spoke, but the point still stands, and Derek collapses back onto the pillows. He pulls a deep breath in through his nose, struggling to keep himself under control, but all he can smell is sex and arousal and pre-come, leaving him light headed and wanting.

Scott curls his fingers just right and Derek sees stars, vision whiting out and he writhes in the sheets, the faint sound of claws tearing through fabric barely registering.

"Scott," he whines. "Scott, please."

"Shhhh baby," Scott kisses the inside of his knee, fingers still pumping in and out. "I got you." A whine he'll probably be embarrassed about later claws its way out of his throat, but Scott just kisses his other knee, stroking his free hand slowly up and down Derek's side.

"You know in my fantasies I always imagine Scott would be the needy one in this situation, not you," Stiles pants. "Still turning me the fuck on, I have to admit." Derek tilts his head towards Stiles' voice, eyes narrowing at the sight in front of him. He wants to make some sarcastic remark about how Stiles still can't manage to shut the fuck up with three of his own fingers buried in his ass, but the words get lost with every twist of Scott's fingers.

"Scott," Derek manages to get his name out through his teeth. "If you don't fuck me soon I swear to God I'm going to -" A whimper cuts his words off, Scott's fingers promptly disappearing, leaving him empty and wanting. The slick sound of lube on skin settles him, though, and he pushes up on his elbows to watch.

It's mesmerizing, watching Scott slick himself up with lube, the flex and bunch of his tattoo covered forearm and the way soft little moans escape his lips. Scott pauses suddenly, eyes flying open to lock on Derek.

"Is this okay, Der? I never even asked I was so overwhelmed, and I can't believe that I didn't-" Derek sits forward and cuts him off with a kiss, curling his hands around Scott's ears, fingers slipping into his hair. He tries to pour all his feelings into that kiss, the trust and desire and most of all, love. Scott smiles against his lips, and he thinks he might have succeeded, or at the very least communicated his consent. "Okay, okay." Scott laughs softly, pushing Derek back onto the pillows as he shuffles forward on his knees.

Scott moves painfully slow, the blunt tip of his cock pressing against Derek, then slowly sinking inside, slowly, so slowly. Derek groans and tries to buck up into it, but Scott's hands on his hips hold him still.

"God that's hot," Stiles whispers, low and honest.

"Yeah," Scott agrees, lifting one of his hands to pull at Derek's leg, not settling until it's stretched up against his chest, ankle hooked around his neck.

"Scott _move_."

"I'm waiting for Stiles," Scott soothes, stroking his hand from Derek's knee down to his hip and back up again. Derek blinks up at him, uncomprehending until a pale, slick hand curls around his cock, stroking it back to full hardness and coating it with lube.

"Oh my god," Derek groans, squeezing his eyes closed as Stiles climbs on top of him, hands leaving sticky prints on his chest.

"Oh no, you don't get to close your eyes, dude," Stiles admonishes. Before Derek can even snap back, Stiles is lining himself up and sinking down with a groan. Derek doesn't know what to do with himself, too overcome with the sensations surrounding him. He doesn't know what to focus on or who to touch or even how to move. But he does have a direct order he can respond to, so he forces his eyes open, swallowing hard when he finds Stiles looking down at him from under hooded lids, perfect pink lips parted and glistening. Scott's peering over his shoulder with an almost identical look, though his top teeth are pulling at his plush bottom lip in that way that makes Derek's skin feel too tight.

"I don't really know how this is going to work," Stiles says after a few seconds of silence. "But I might just sit right here forever." Derek's laugh surprises even himself, but the way it moves his body makes all three of them groan, and, just like that, something's happening.

Scott's thrusts are short and shallow, his teeth biting into Stiles' shoulder as he moves. If it was just the two of them, Derek would probably be annoyed with it, but Stiles starts to lift himself up and drop himself down in a punishing rhythm.

So Derek just moans and lets himself enjoy for once, running his hands across Stiles' broad shoulders and down his chest, tracing across the various scars that mar his pale skin. There's a trail of pre-come connecting Derek's belly to the tip of Stiles' cock, and he wants to taste it, wants to feel the weight of Stiles' dick on his tongue. He settles for wrapping one hand around it and stroking gently.

"Oh God," Stiles groans, his rhythm stuttering. He begins to roll his hips, grinding against Derek and fucking up into his fist.

"Quick-draw over here," Scott smirks over Stiles' shoulder, tan hands slipping across his skin to pinch at his nipple.

"Not fair," Stiles pants, eyes slipping shut. "I've been hard since you two closed that bathroom door - oh my _god_ \- and are you aware how hot you guys are? Mere mortals like my - fuck - self aren't made for this shit - holy fuck -"

Derek tightens his grip and starts to stroke with intent, suddenly overcome with the need to be covered in Stiles' come, to rub it into his skin and taste it.

Stiles' eyes roll back into his head as he comes, the way he tightens around Derek almost enough to push him over the edge too. He holds on though, moaning softly as Stiles' come lands on his chest, reaching up without thought to smear it in.  Stiles lets out a sound like a dying whale when Derek brings his fingers to his mouth.

"Kinky mother fuckers," he sighs, collapsing half onto the bed and half on Derek. He groans when Derek pulls out of him, but otherwise doesn't move, content to watch them with his head tilted sideways.

Scott starts to thrust in earnest, leaning forward and spreading his fingers through Stiles' come.

"Smell much better now," he grunts, mouth falling open as Derek pushes up against him. "God Der, you're so good." His hips stutter, and Derek knows he's close, can see it in the beads of sweat dripping down his chest and the flush rising on his cheeks. "Wanna come inside you. Can I?"

Derek groans and nods, throwing his head back as Scott wraps one hand around his cock, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts. It starts with the tightening of his muscles, then the white heat curling in the base of his stomach becomes too much, and his vision blurs, and he's coming, spurting all over his own chest and Scott's hand. He can feel Scott pulse inside him, filling him up.

It satisfies something deep inside him, and he's rumbling happily before he even comes down from his orgasm, both his and Scott's hands rubbing his cooling come in with Stiles'.

"That is so gross," Stiles mumbles, reaching out hesitantly with one finger. "But I am so into it." Derek finds himself smiling as Scott slips out of him, leaning towards Stiles and pressing a hesitant kiss to his lips.

He's almost afraid that this is a one-time thing, that maybe Stiles and Scott just wanted to spice up their sex life, wanted another way to orgasm. But then Scott curls against his other side, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder and the curve of his neck.

"We are having a serious discussion later," Stiles mumbles sleepily, shifting closer to Derek and pulling a blanket up over the three of them. "After we wake up. And after we wash these sheets. This is kind of gross honestly."

"Just go to sleep Stiles," Scott huffs. Derek can't help but smile when he feels their intertwined fingers settle across his stomach. It feels like he's finally found where he belongs.

 

Derek awakens to the soft drag of fingers across his chest, tracing the dips and ridges of his ribs and abs. His eyes flutter open to find Scott, warm eyes only half open, propped up on one elbow. Derek stretches, immediately aware of the still warm but empty spot on his other side.

"Where's Stiles?" His voice sticks in his throat, raspy and low. Scott cocks his head for a moment, listening, as a tiny smile pulls at his lips.

"He's in the kitchen freaking out." Scott shrugs like it's no big deal, but Derek immediately starts to tense up.

"Why is he - I don't want to - I didn't mean-"

"Shhhhh," Scott rubs a soothing hand across his chest, pushing him back down onto the bed.

"He's more worried about you not wanting to be with us. And also trying to think up a way to keep up with werewolf stamina." Scott's face breaks into a grin.

"Be with you?" Derek feels shy suddenly, averting his eyes to stare down at the dried come clumped in his chest hair. That's going to be a bitch later.

"Yeah," Scott says softly, his fingers moving up to comb through Derek's hair. "You, me, and Stiles, all dating each other." Derek shifts onto his side, really looking at Scott. His eyes trail over the flames that cuff his wrist, the da Vinci werewolf on the inside of his forearm, the ring of wolfsbane flowers circling his bicep just under the chain.

"Where's Stiles'?" Derek asks quietly. Scott flops forward onto his belly, revealing the giant tree tattooed up his spine, the branches curling around his ribs and his shoulders. Derek had seen it before of course, but he just wasn't aware that it was _for_ Stiles. There's a coyote nestled at the base, surrounded by leaves and flowers.

"We've been in love with you since we were sixteen," Scott admits, brown eyes vulnerable as he stares at Derek over his shoulder. "We didn't realize it then, but I knew... I knew before Mexico. I don't know when Stiles figured it out but... We figured ten years of being in love with someone is long enough to know it's real."

"But I left," Derek whispers, staring down at the sheets as Scott flips back over. "How could you - I don't deserve -"

"Stiles wouldn't speak your name for three years dude. We _were_ angry, but anger doesn't make you stop loving someone."

Derek falls silent, letting himself study more of Scott's tattoos, matching them up with each of the pack. "I've loved you both for a long time too," he admits finally, looking up at Scott through his lashes. "Me and you, we've been... we've been connected since the day we met. And Stiles," he grins without thinking. "He grew on me."

"Like a mold." Derek looks up to find Stiles leaning against the doorway, a pair of Derek's own sweatpants slung low on his hips. He's smiling though, an honest little smile that Derek has only seen a handful of times before.

"I knew before I left, but I just... everything I love gets destroyed, I couldn't let that happen to you two. Or any of the pack, I love them all too, you know?"

"We aren't that easy to get rid of," Stiles grins, stepping fully into the room and climbing onto the bed behind Scott. He curls his lanky body around Scott's, fingers falling to the triskele tattoo on his hip like it's a habit.

"How many times have you licked that tattoo?" Derek asks with a smirk, grinning as Stiles' cheeks turn guiltily red.

"I'm surprised you haven't yet." Scott shoots back, pushing his hips in Derek's direction. He hums softly to himself, reaching out to trace the _breathe_ tattooed over Scott's heart.

"And the pack? They'll be okay with us?"

"Yeah," Stiles yawns against Scott's shoulder, pressing a tiny kiss there. "I think they might be planning an intervention actually." Derek hums to himself and follows the trail his fingers take with his mouth, traveling down Scott's chest and belly until he reaches his tattoo. He traces the spirals with his fingers first, pretending like he doesn't see Scott's dick hardening beside his cheek. Scott's scent is the purest here, and he can't help but press his face into the v of his hips, drinking in the scent of alpha and home.

"He's going to kill me," Stiles whispers above him. "This is just..." He trails off as Derek pulls back and traces the spirals with his tongue, eyelashes fluttering at the feel of Scott's pulse thundering just beneath the skin. Stiles’ fingers push through his hair, then skate down his cheeks, tracing the curve of his jaw.

Derek never thought he would be here, in bed with the two men he's been in love with for so long he can't even remember what is was like not to love them. It's almost too good to be true, but for once he's going to let himself have this.

 

 

* * *

 

The Welcome to Beacon Hills Sign shrinks in Derek's rearview mirror, though it's hard to see it through the white paint that covers the rear window.

"Okay, it's been three minutes and I already have two complaints." Stiles' breath is hot on the back of his neck as he leans up into the front seat. "One, how long do we have to keep those fucking cans on? I'm not even a werewolf and they're bugging the shit out of me. Two, why do I have to sit in the backseat? Shouldn't we have drawn straws or something? Or like, invested in a bench seat? Because this is omph-"

Derek laughs as Scott pulls Stiles into the front seat, settling him sideways on his lap. There's really not enough room, and they look ridiculous, with the buttons of their shirts undone and their suspenders falling off their shoulders.

"I kinda like the cans," Derek shrugs, attempting to keep his lips from twitching.

"You're the worst," Stiles grumbles, lips pursing into a dramatic pout.

"And yet you just _werewolf married_ both of us," Scott shakes his head. "Obviously didn't think that through." Stiles huffs again, but Derek can see the smile fighting to break through.

"I was assuming this marriage would include a lot more sex," he twirls the silver band around his ring finger. "I'm a little disappointed."

Scott promptly shoves his hand down the front of Stiles' pants, licking a stripe up the side of his neck before grinning wickedly.

"You want sex? I'll give you sex."

The familiar scent of arousal still hits Derek like a high speed train. He swallows hard, his own dick already chubbing up in his slacks. They're going to be lucky if they make it to Mexico without any traffic violations.

 

Derek leaves Beacon Hills in a '67 Camaro, but this time he knows he's coming back to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! I am currently on semi-hiatus on [tumblr](http://werewolvesandarrows.tumblr.com) but feel free to come say hi!
> 
> Also, here are the links for the art again!!! [tumblr](http://dreaminpng.tumblr.com/post/146575935362/the-art-i-drew-to-accompany-werewolvesandarrowss) and [Live Journal](http://dreaminpng.livejournal.com/3331.html).


End file.
